The Batman
by The Mudblooded Slytherin
Summary: Or 'The Mystery of the Malicious Messages'. Someone's leaving mean little notes all over the seventh year students' things! Almost everyone suspects Harry. Will the resulting uproar bring Harry and Hermione closer than ever? No. It won't. HarryDraco


_Maybe if you didn't spend so much time reading you'd have more friends._

_- Courtesy of the Batman_

Hermione stared open-mouthed at the note she found crushed at the bottom of her bag. _Who is this Batman? And why did he write me a note like this?_ she thought. She could feel her eyes burning.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" asked Ron, who had noticed her less-than-happy facial expression.

"What? Oh, yeah, fine, just ... just fine. I think I'm gonna go to bed now," she replied absently.

"Bed? It's only 8:30!"

Hermione didn't respond as she sprinted upstairs to her room.

---

A week had gone by and it seemed as though everyone was getting little notes pinned to their things, 'Courtesy of the Batman'. Most of them weren't very nice. Well, really, all of them weren't very nice. Dean got one telling him that he should _"stop peaking at Christmas presents and just come out of the bloody closet already"_, Neville got one politely asking that he _"find a plant that can grow a brain for him"_, and Parvati received a note proclaiming that she was _"the biggest gossip in the entire school, and no, that's not a compliment"_. True, everyone knew Parvati was the biggest gossip in the whole school, but it still wasn't very nice.

The Batman didn't discriminate, either. People in other houses were also getting them. Ernie from Hufflepuff supposedly received one telling him he was "pompous" or "to stop being pompous"; the details weren't clearly known.

The scene Pansy Parkinson made in the middle of lunch when she found a note pinned to the back of her cloak reading _"Stop following Malfoy around like a damned fool. Can't you see he doesn't want you, you desperate cow?"_ was heard all around the castle, and even some people who were eating lunch on the grounds claimed they heard her shrieks.

All in all, it seemed that Harry was the only one not to have received a letter. Of course, this wasn't strictly accurate, as Hermione cheerfully reminded him. Most of the younger years weren't getting any, which probably meant that it was someone in their year. The fact that he hadn't received one, coupled with Hermione constantly whinging on about the supposed year of the assailant, had made Harry the prime suspect. Ron even pulled him aside to ask him, rather nervously, if it was.

_"Ron, you know I wouldn't say anything about your mother like that,"_ he had responded somewhat testily.

_"Oh, yeah, I know, I know, I just ... just making sure ... you know, can't be too careful..."_

Considering the vicious content of the notes, Harry was glad he hadn't received one. Though he did feel oddly left out, and he wished that people weren't blaming him for it. It was like second year all over again; only not quite as serious. But at least in second year everyone was afraid of him and they'd left him alone. Now there were people haranguing at him at every turn. There were, however, a few on his side.

_"It's gotta be Snape, I mean really," said Dean. "Little mean, passive-aggressive notes from the Batman? I mean really!"_

_"I don't think so. Professor Snape may be bitter, but he's not stupid. He knows some people call him the Bat, he wouldn't use such an obvious pseudonym," Hermione disagreed._

_"And besides," Ron added. "Snape hates Harry probably the most out of all of us. He would have definitely sent him a hateful little letter."_

Well, sort of on his side.

The Mystery of the Malicious Messages remained unsolved, despite that Hermione was almost frantic trying to figure out who it was. But everyone in their year (except for Harry) had received a note. A few of the notes made references to first year, and as they were in their final year it stood to reason that it could only be someone in seventh year. Or one of the professors, as Dean kept reminding everyone. But if it was someone in seventh year, they had sent themselves a note, bringing them back almost to square one. Harry just tried to forget about it, and how slighted he felt by not receiving his own caustic missive.

Another few weeks went by, and Harry still remained letter-less.

Meanwhile, the notes had started up again. It seemed that everyone was in for a second dose. Some of the lesser-known classmates only received revised versions of the first, but some, like Ron, whose previous note had been a dig about his family, now had a note that read, _"Stop following Harry around like a little puppy dog before I start to worry about your sexuality too. Besides, I'm sure Dean would appreciate it more."_, which made all three boys rather uncomfortable.

_I can't believe I'm loosing sleep over something this stupid,_ Harry thought one night. _I should be glad I didn't get one of those bloody notes. I _am_ glad. There's no reason to feel so left out._

Restless, Harry opened his trunk for his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map, deciding that he would go take a bath in the Prefect's bathroom. He had, over the course of the last two years, grown rather attached to the place, going there often during the night. Ron always told him when the password changed. Harry rather thought he did it because Hermione had once told him not to.

Slipping out of the Common Room, Harry glanced down at the map to make sure his path was clear. Over near the Hufflepuff dormitories, movement caught his eye. The tiny dot was labeled 'Draco Malfoy'. What's Malfoy doing down by the Hufflepuffs? he thought. Turning left down a staircase, he followed the dot that seemed to be pacing back and forth down a hallway. Quietly approaching, he turned right down the corridor and saw the boy in question leaning close to a painting and whispering something. When nothing happened, he moved down the hallway a bit and whispered something to another portrait. Harry was thankful that he had opted for thick socks and not shoes as he silently crept closer and closer to the blonde haired boy.

"Boomslang," Malfoy whispered, and the oil depiction of an elderly wizard in a very large hat slid over to reveal a doorway.

As Malfoy pressed his ear to the door, Harry quickly checked his map. It was the Hufflepuff entrance, alright. Both boys quietly stole into the canary-yellow room. Harry winced as he thought of how blinding it must be during the daytime.

He watched as Malfoy picked up a book laying on the end table. The inside cover proclaimed it to be the 'property of Hannah Abbot'. Taking a piece of parchment and a miniature quill from his pocket, he thought for a moment, then started scribbling something. Trying to get a closer look, Harry slowly walked over to the table. He got close enough to see the last line, which read _"-Courtesy of th"_ when he stepped on something. Draco twirled around, staring wildly at the supposedly empty room. Quickly finishing the note, he stuffed it into the book and practically ran for the exit. Harry stayed still, knowing that if he removed is foot from whatever he had stepped on, it would make another noise. He waited until the door closed behind the Slytherin boy to move towards the book. Opening it, he barely had time to find the page when Ernie came down the stairs. He panicked for a minute and ran halfway to the door when he realized that Ernie couldn't see him.

Looking suspiciously around the room, the Hufflepuff prefect called, "I know you're here. I heard you running and I hear you breathing right now."

Harry snapped his mouth closed. Could he hear his heart beating wildly, too?

Ernie stepped over to the book, still lying open on the table. After he finished reading it, he glanced around the room again, and, satisfied that it was empty, started walking back upstairs, muttering something about "he's a pompous fool, the stupid git". After Harry assured himself Ernie was back in his dorm, he looked down at the object that had started it all. It was an empty Chocolate Frog wrapper. He ran out of the Hufflepuff Common Room and back to his bed.

_Malfoy,_ he thought. _Why hasn't_ Malfoy _of all people given me a note?_ If possible, he felt more slighted than before. He had always imagined Malfoy storming around the Slytherin Common Room, complaining about Potter this and Potter that. The fact that the blonde boy had completely forgotten him irked him more than Harry thought appropriate.

The next morning, everyone was in an uproar. Supposedly, the Batman was really the Bloody Baron. Or the Fat Friar. Harry even heard Moaning Myrtle mentioned once or twice. Harry hadn't told Ron or Hermione, or anyone else for that matter, what he had seen last night. He didn't know why. He felt inexplicably embarrassed. _"I guess Malfoy doesn't hate you as much as we all thought, mate." "Maybe he hates you so much he can't decide what to write?"_ Strangely, both thoughts rather depressed him.

_Enough of this. I'll just ask him. I'll just say, "Malfoy, why haven't you written me a note?" Yes. Good. And he'll smirk in that ... infuriating way of his and say, "What, jealous Potter?" and I'll say ... I'll say..._

---

Harry was waiting by the entrance to the dungeons. Past experience told him that the Slytherin Common Room was down there, and he had been waiting there by the stairs in his invisibility cloak with his Marauder's Map all last night and the night before, but it seemed as though Malfoy was taking the last two nights to write notes to his own house. Pansy had received another one. No one knew what it said, but this morning she had shrieked and ran from the Great Hall during breakfast. Harry wanted to just go down there and throttle the boy until he confessed. To everything, to anything, he just wanted the little ferret to squirm. But that was a bad idea. If he was up here, he could wait until Malfoy stole out on one of his message deliveries, then head him off using the Marauder's Map, then take off his cloak and say, in a surprised tone of voice, _"Why, Malfoy! Whatever could you be doing here, in this deserted hallway in the middle of the night all alone with no one else here but me?" _Well, maybe not that exactly. He needed to work on that part.

Finally, the blasted boy left his common room and started to make for the staircase at the top of which Harry was currently standing. Harry wondered if he should wait and reveal himself later, but he knew if he waited, he wouldn't be able to make himself do it. _Now or never,_ he thought with the air of one about to do something very painful. Making sure he was hidden in the shadows, he slipped off his cloak and waited for Malfoy to see him. He didn't until he was about three feet away, then he looked as surprised as if it had been Voldemort himself. He looked about as pleased, as well.

"P--Potter? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he stuttered.

"I could ask the same thing of you, Malfoy," Harry found himself saying. He was thankful that his mouth seemed to be able to function without the participation of his brain.

"I, unlike you, am a prefect, Potter. So you'd better get back to bed before I turn you in." Malfoy's voice regained its silky quality as his surprise faded.

"Malfoy, we both know that prefect curfew is only an hour after regular. You're out late, too."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure your little friends told you all about being a prefect. Well, you couldn't very well find out for yourself, could you?" he smirked. "And besides, I meant what are you doing _here?_ Surely the dungeons don't hold sentimental value for you."

Harry was suddenly tired of the endless beating around the bush. Might as well get it over with; the blonde wouldn't let anything slip about the notes while they were bickering about why who was where.

"Malfoy. I want to know why you haven't written me a note." There it was. Out in the open. Nothing to do now but wait.

He looked shocked, but in a guilty sort of way. "Wh--why would I write you a ... note?"

"Malfoy. We both know that you're the Batman. We also both know that I'm the only one you haven't written a note to. I want to know why, and I want to know now, damn it!" he finished hotly.

"Why? Jealous?" he smirked.

The words were so close to his earlier thoughts that it was eerie. Harry couldn't decide if he should say 'Yes, of course' sarcastically or 'No, of course not' seriously.

He ended up with a sarcastic, "No, of course not." Not quite the message he wanted to send. Malfoy looked at him oddly. "I mean ... it's just that I thought you really hated me and it's kind of odd that you didn't send me one," he said in a rush, then sighed. "I'm coming out on a limb here, Malfoy. Humor me?" He could hear the pleading in his voice, and was sure Malfoy could, too. He cursed his brain for interfering. His mouth had been doing fine before.

Malfoy stared at him for a minute, then said, "Honestly?"

Harry snorted. "Yes, I generally prefer the truth to lies."

It was Malfoy's turn to snort. "You couldn't handle the truth."

"Just try me."

Malfoy looked at the floor. He seemed to be involved in a sort of heated mental debate. His cheeks suddenly reddened as though his own thoughts had embarrassed him. Twice, he almost said something. Then he seemed to brace himself, heaving a sigh Harry didn't think Malfoy had even been aware of.

"Well. I guess I just couldn't think of anything bad to say about you," he said arrogantly. Harry was about to retort when he realized what Malfoy had said, hidden by his aloof tone.

"Wh...what?"

"I said you're perfect, Potter," he said disdainfully.

"I...I..."

"Go ahead, Potter," he sneered. "You what?"

"I..." Harry wondered if this was a dream; if he'd fell off his broom in the last Gryffindor/Slytherin match and was having a drug-induced hallucination.

Malfoy adopted a bored expression. "Come on, Potter. Can't stand here all night; I got some letters to deliver." Malfoy looked at him for a second longer, then stalked away.

Harry continued to stare at the empty spot where Malfoy had stood. He was still standing there an hour later when Malfoy returned. He opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy breezed past him and down the stairs before he got a chance.

So Harry continued to stand there. He didn't really want to go anywhere else; not to his bed, not to the Common Room, and as he couldn't think of a decent place to go, he stood there. He stood there at the top of the dungeon stairs while the corridor grew lighter. He stood there as some early rising Slytherins walked passed him, giving him odd glances on their way to breakfast. He stood there as Crabbe and Goyle stopped next to him.

"Um...Potter?" Harry shifted his glazed gaze to the one who'd spoken. Crabbe, he thought.

"Wha?"

"Why are you standing here?" In a sudden rush Harry realized that he had never had a proper conversation with the two boys. He remembered them as two lumbering oafs who could barely string together a sentence, but Crabbe sounded normal enough.

"I dunno."

Somewhere inside him, Harry felt a vague surprise that they looked slightly worried as they exchanged glances. They each placed a hand on his shoulders, and started to lead him away from the staircase. Harry let them. He still heard Malfoy's words ringing in his head. _You're perfect, Potter. I couldn't find anything wrong with you, you're perfect. Perfect._ He blearily wondered what Malfoy was smoking, and if he could possibly have any of it, because it was obviously very good.

Pressure from his shoulders stopped him from moving forward. They had reached a deserted boys bathroom. If Harry had been in a better frame of mind, he would have been slightly worried.

"Potter. We need to talk." It was Goyle this time.

"About what?"

"Draco," said Crabbe.

"What about him?"

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to him?" asked Goyle.

"I didn't do anything to him," Harry protested.

"Not intentionally, but it's still your fault," replied Crabbe. Harry wondered if they had rehearsed this conversation; they were switching off their lines so well.

"I still don't get the part where I've done anything to him."

Goyle sighed. "You wouldn't, would you?"

Harry looked indignant.

"If you haven't realized it before, Potter, Draco is in love with you."

Harry gaped.

"Head over heels."

Harry gasped.

"The whole obsessive, missing meals, letting-you-win-at-Quidditch type."

"He doesn't let me win!" something finally broke through. "He's so bad he had to buy his way on the team!" Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't entirely true. Draco had given him a run for his money many a time, and if Draco hadn't been so busy taunting him he might have beat Harry a number of times. _Malfoy. Malfoy, not Draco! It's Crabbe and Goyle's fault. They were calling him Draco. It's only natural to think of him as he is spoken of, or some psychological crap like --_

"He didn't really buy his way on the team, you know. The captain had his eye on Draco for a long time, Draco didn't even buy the brooms until after he knew he was accepted," Goyle sounded slightly affronted.

"But that's not the point," continued Crabbe. "The point is he's not sleeping, he's not eating, he barely talks to anyone anymore. He's doing poorly in his classes," Crabbe stressed the last part, apparently Draco doing badly in class was very odd. Something panged inside of Harry's chest.

He remembered all the nights he had been up because of Draco. He hadn't slept properly in days. He remembered how this was the first time he hadn't told his friends something. And Harry couldn't honestly tell you for certain what he'd done in any of his classes for the past week.

"... want you to do something about it," Goyle was saying.

"Me? What can I do about any of it?"

Both Crabbe and Goyle gave him condescending looks. Harry found it unnerving that people that he (until recently) thought were very stupid were looking at him as though he was a somewhat retarded child. Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. Crabbe and Goyle shared glances that seemed to say, "Well, we've done all we can do. Let's hope the idiot doesn't bugger it up more" and walked out of the washroom. Under his layers of shock and numbness, he felt a faint feeling of irritation at all the Slytherins who had walked away from him in the middle of a conversation.

"...harry..."

"Harry!"

"Wha?"

"Merlin, Harry, do you pay attention to anything anymore? I think that's the sixth time you said 'wha' this week," Ron said testily.

"Sorry," Harry said absently, already back in his thoughts.

"What are you thinking about, anyway?"

"What? Oh, um, just ... things."

"You know, Harry, if I didn't know better I'd say you had a crush."

"Wha-WHAT?"

Ron looked startled at Harry's outburst. "Well," he said, somewhat nervously, "back when you fancied Cho you were always staring off into space like that, not listening to people. This morning you just kept staring at nothing just like you're doing now, you barely ate anything."

Harry didn't tell Ron that he was, in fact, staring at something during breakfast. Ron was his best friend, but Harry didn't think "I was checking out Malfoy" would go over very well.

"You know that whatever's bothering you -- or whoever -- you can always, erm, talk to me about it or whatever."

Harry looked up at Ron.

"Ok," he sighed. "I think I do like someone. I'm not sure though. Either I like them a lot or I hate them."

Ron looked rather confused by this, but nodded encouragingly anyway.

"What ... what should I do?"

"Well," he seemed uncertain. "You know I'd had a crush on Hermione since like, second year, right?"

"I rather thought you did. But if you've liked her, why'd you wait so long to ask her out?"

"I don't know, Harry. I really don't know. But I do know that I wish I hadn't."

---

Harry looked down at the Marauder's Map. Next to the dot labeled 'Harry Potter' was a speech bubble proclaiming, "stygian atramentous". Harry sounded it out the best he could, wondered vaguely what it meant, and registered the surprised expressions of the few late-nighters as their Common Room door opened with no one there. He walked over to the staircase, not caring much about the slight noises he was making. He thought back to second year, when he'd been in here before. He thought he remembered seeing Blaise Zabini coming down the right hand staircase. It wouldn't bode too well if he got halfway up and then was slid violently back down. He didn't think he would be able to hold onto his cloak should such a thing occur.

Luckily, his memory was not faulty. Reaching the top he continued down the hallway until he reached a door with a sign saying '7th Year'. He quietly opened the door, both hoping that Draco was there and that he wasn't.

He was.

And he wasn't alone, either. Crabbe and Goyle were both seated on one bed, facing one where Draco was laying on his back, hands covering his face. None of them noticed the door silently swing open as Draco wasn't in any position to be seeing anything, and the other two were seated with their backs to the door. Praising his luck he snuck closer, trying to hear what was being said.

"It couldn't have been that bad," Crabbe told Draco.

"It was. You should have seen his face," Draco mumbled.

"You know," Goyle added. "You shouldn't take this as an insult to you. He could just be strait."

"He would. Stupid little bugger."

"We talked to him, he didn't seem so strait to me," stated Crabbe. Draco jumped into a sitting position.

"You _what?_"

"This morning. We went up for breakfast around six thirty, and he was standing at the top of the stairs, staring into space, so we took him into the first floor washroom and had a talk."

"He was standing there? Still?" Draco's tone was skeptical.

"Either that or he left and came back at five in the morning. Blaise said he saw him when he went up, and he wakes rather early," supplied Goyle.

"Well, anyway," continued Draco. "How d'you mean, he didn't seem strait?"

"Well, I can't say for sure," Crabbe said. "But we told him you liked him -- we wouldn't have, but you'd _obviously_ done last night, Draco, we wouldn't have otherwise -- and anyway. He didn't seem too ... adverse to the idea of ... another bloke."

"Well that's it then," Draco said desolately. "It's me. But how can he not like me? I'm rich, attractive -- _very_ attractive --, great at quidditch --"

"You may not have bought your way onto the team," Harry said, dropping his cloak and causing the three boys to jump. "But I know for a fact you still can't beat me."

While Draco gaped, Crabbe and Goyle quietly excused themselves. _They really_ aren't _that dense_, Harry thought.

"How ... how'd you get in here, Potter?"

Harry cocked his head to one side. "How'd you get into the Hufflepuff Common Room the other night?"

Draco looked triumphant. "I knew someone was there!"

"Yeah, and Ernie almost caught me, too."

Draco laughed. "Not too good at being sly, are you Potter?"

"You didn't notice me standing here for about ten minutes."

Draco looked slightly impressed. "Touché."

Harry grinned. "But I digress. You can't beat me, even if Crabbe and Goyle say you've been letting me win."

Draco seemed pained. "They told you that?"

Harry smirked. "They told me many things," he said cryptically. He laughed as the other boy looked horrified. "Don't worry, nothing too bad." Draco sighed with relief. "They did tell me how you sleep in the nude, though."

"I really don't want to know how they know that."

---

It had taken much wheedling, much pleading, much down-right begging from Harry to convince McGonagall that he was responsible enough to take the snitch out himself.

_"Potter, you know all the Quidditch materials are under lock and key unless there is a game or practice."_ and _"If I do this for you, I'll have to do it for everyone."_ But in the end she relented, and Harry rejoiced.

Trotting jauntily down the trail to the Quidditch shed, the keys McGonagall had given him jingling merrily from his belt loop, Harry felt good.

Then he saw Draco.

He felt better.

"Good job, Potter, I didn't think you'd manage it," he said airily. "What'd you say to the old girl?"

"I have my ways, I have my ways," Harry said cryptically.

"Hmmp," replied Draco. "Bet you got down on your knees and begged like a dog."

In response, Harry threw Draco's broom at him.

Mounting their twin LightningBolts, Harry and Draco shared a grin.

The snitch was released and they counted to ten.


End file.
